


Old College Try

by theblindtorpedo



Series: Trans!Man Fiddleford/Stanley Fics [3]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Old Age, Penis In Vagina Sex, Smut, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 21:26:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5106317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theblindtorpedo/pseuds/theblindtorpedo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite minor inconveniences, Stanley and Fiddleford are determined to have a good time.</p><p>(Written for Old Fiddlestan Day.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old College Try

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OldPanMcGucket](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=OldPanMcGucket).



Stan let a stray hand wander over Fiddleford’s bony side. Months of regular feeding and the old man was still thin as a rail, albeit not as worrisomely emaciated as before. His appearance had taken on a healthy glow, cheeks plumper, and his eyes looked less buggy when surrounded by a full face. But under skin thin with age all of Fiddleford’s ribs were still visible. Stan tapped his fingers down them, counting, as if hitting the keys on a piano.

Fiddleford was sucking on his own bottom lip, looking up with reverent and expectant eyes. Whenever they started these activities it always took painfully long for Fiddleford to feel comfortable to voice his own desires and by the time he felt safe enough to vocalize he was usually too far gone for coherency. Shy and quiet were not words one would use to describe Old Man McGucket, notorious for loud childish exuberance and unflappable energy. Nevertheless, now they were undeniably applicable; he was silent, with an expression bare and wanting, a look that aged him, but in a way that his features exposed a mind finally, blessedly, in tune with its body, free of the debilitating disorientation of the past thirty years. Thankfully, Stan knew what this specific look meant.

When he did lean down to grant the other man the kiss he desired, Fiddleford sighed in genuine unabashed delight, arms immediately coming to encircle Stan’s neck. As they kissed, Stan tilted to press his clothed chest flush against his lover’s, unpracticed tongues still relearning the movements after years of celibacy, by choice and circumstance. Fiddleford’s hands, dirt still ingrained (perhaps forever) under newly clipped fingernails, clutched at his suit jacket. Stan grinned into the ticklish down of Fiddleford’s beard. There was something thrilling about still having his Mr. Mystery uniform on while the other was naked and vulnerable in his bed. He felt powerful.

Fiddleford tugged down, urging the larger man close enough to near suffocate him. Stan’s hands fisted in the sheets at Fiddleford’s side, bracketing him in a protective cage. He loved Stan on top of him, he loved feeling surrounded, secure; he craved being the center of this man’s attention. Stanley Pines was larger than life in many ways and it thrilled him to the core to be the single object of his focus, if only for a couple hours in the bedroom.

“M-more,” he begged, when they broke for air again, lips wet from each other’s mouths.

“More what?” Stan cruelly moved out of reach as Fiddleford craned his neck to try and capture another kiss. Fiddleford beat a fist against Stan’s shoulder.

“Do somethin’, dagnabbit!”

“You’re dirty talk needs work, grandpa.” A swift kiss placed to the tip of the obscenely large nose, marveling at the blush spread out across Fiddleford’s sun speckled face. “Besides, ain’t kissing, something?”

Fiddleford shook his head desperately. “Oh-y-yes, but somethin’ else, I don’t know. Just, well . . . yer makin’ me all hot ‘n’ funny feelin’ and kissin’s nice, but it ain’t quite all-”

“What are you, a sixteen year old on prom night? Give an old man some time to oil his hinges first.” Stan laughed, the vibrations of his mirth traveling straight into Fiddleford’s chest where they touched. But he intended to concede to Fiddleford’s plea, so he moved to settle on his knees, one leg between Fiddleford’s legs the other on his left side.

A hand snaked its way down sun-browned chest and then paler skin. The light remnants of torso scars were quickly passed over; instead he traced the strange tan left by Fiddleford’s overalls, the lines of dark and light skin, patterns to explore with eye and tongue. A shaky U shape, crowning the top of Fiddleford’s stomach. Stan pet at the distended belly, massaging and cupping until he could feel Fiddleford’s hips flexing underneath, tacit demands for him to move on. So he slipped his hand past the small tuft of pubic hair, into the cleft between the other man’s legs. This elicited a gasp. Stan rubbed the crook of slender thigh, not yet touching Fiddleford’s center, but savoring the soft anticipatory quivers underneath his fingertips. With each stroke Fiddleford breathed small hot huffs of pleasure on his cheek.

Finally, he dipped two fingers into ready folds. Fiddleford keened high in his chest and Stan caught the end of the sound in another kiss, before lowering to lave and lick at shivering neck. He began to pump his fingers in and out, thumb flicking in teasing glances over the erect nub of nerves, just enough light pressure to make Fiddleford whimper. As his hand moved faster, Fiddleford’s pants grew in frequency, and each needy sound felt hardwired straight to Stan's cock. He started to grind his trapped erection against Fiddleford’s hip.

And all would have gone as usual, they would have both come quickly, both cleaned up, redressed to be presentable in front of the unsuspecting children, had Stan not decided to be slightly more inventive tonight. Old men are creatures of habit, throwing a wrench in routines has unforeseen consequences. This particular unpredicted decision was to bite down on a shaking shoulder while simultaneously pressing down on Fiddleford’s clit, causing a sharp yell and scrawny legs to kick into the air with the overwhelming double sensation.

A resounding thump, something very hard hit him, bone against bone, the shock enough to throw him backwards off of Fiddleford.

“SHIT!”

Stan felt a throbbing pain blossoming at his side. He rolled to sit up on the edge of the bed, massaging his injured hip.

“Gotta give a guy some _warning_ before you try and take him out with those hammers you call knees!”

He wiped at his eyes, damp from tears that leaked out at the sudden pain. Once certain his face was dry and his pride partially recovered, Stan turned back to look at his lover. Fiddleford was still on his back, curled in on himself defensively. His knees were brought up against his chest, arms crossed to hold himself as he rocked back and forth on his spine. Long toes twitched nervously, but he was still breathing quick and shallow. And despite the mishap, Stan noticed, Fiddleford was still obviously aroused; underneath the swell of his raised thighs the folds of his sex were wet and gleaming.

Stan felt an appreciative throb in his crotch at the sight, pulling the focus away from where he would most likely form a bruise. Fiddleford’s bright blue eyes were wide and scared, but also blown dark from stimulation. He must have been right on the edge of coming.

“Ah, fuck it, don’t look at me like that. You did nothing wrong.”

Fiddleford turned away, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead and giggling nervously. The other hand came down between his legs to cover himself from view.

“Ahm, sorry, I’m so sorry! Old Man McGucket can’t do nothin’ right and there you are all a’hurtin’ and I’m still-ooooh.” He moaned slightly, twitching into the hand pressed flat against his aching sex, but he didn't touch himself.

Stan growled. That just wouldn’t do. Fiddleford might be resigned to letting this whole experience end in disappointment and self-deprecation, but he certainly was not. Stanley Pines left nothing unfinished, especially his lovers. Determined hands came up to ease apart Fiddleford’s legs again.

“St-an, what’cha doin’?”

“You know exactly what I’m doing. Now c’mon, baby, I wanna see you.”

Fiddleford lit up then, his demeanor shifting under the obvious attention. Stan wanted him. Stan wanted him and was not afraid to say it. A hard swallow, then a loud exhale, and tension began to seep out of him. Fiddleford let his legs fall open at Stan’s firm prompting, by both rough palm and rougher voice, his stance now wider than before, exposing himself fully.

Stan felt a bead of nervous sweat slide down his jaw.

“Shit,” he muttered.

“Is this all right?”

Stan’s response was to grab at his own belt, hands trembling in their eagerness, still with his eyes locked between Fiddleford’s legs. The click of metal echoed loud in the room.

“Are ya thinkin’ what I think yer thinkin’? Ya wanna do . . . _that_ , wit me?” Fiddleford asked with genuine surprise sitting up to watch Stan work at his clothes.

“Fuck, that’s HOT. That shouldn't be so hot, goddamn-“ Stan was babbling to himself as pants and underwear were ripped open, shoved down to his knees, his belt thrown to the side. Fiddleford barely got a glimpse of Stan’s cock before he was unceremoniously pushed back down and Stan was on top of him, one hand on an inner thigh, the other bracing himself up by Fiddleford’s head.

The first thrust was slow, despite Stan’s obvious impatience, both of them had to take the time to adjust to the new sensation of penetration. Stan was large, much bigger than his fingers had been. Fiddleford felt terribly, wonderfully stretched.

“It’s been a while,” he whispered in wonder.

“No kiddin’.” Short shallow thrust. ”But you still feel great.” Another, deeper thrust and a moan from Fiddleford. Stan licked his lips. “You ready to go a little faster?”

“Only if ya think ya can take it,” Fiddleford grinned, endorphins making him bold.

“Course I can TAKE it,” Stan scoffed, leaning down close to Fiddleford’s face, “Ladies can’t control themselves around Mister Mystery.”

“Well, I ain’t no lady.” A hard squeeze left Stan gasping.

“Oh, you got that right. No lady here,” Stan growled playfully, a predatory light in his eye. Fiddleford steeled himself for retaliation.

Stan set the pace from there, as hard and fast as he could with his age-compromised bones. While younger, more able lovers might scoff at their speed, hardly lively enough to even be called a romp, the novelty of it still left both old men breathless. And yet they matched well, Stan’s ardor enough to incite a consuming lust without overworking his partner, their touch starved bodies moving in harmony. Fiddleford could do little more than take, his head thrown back in pleasure.

“Yer so good, so good, ah-h _ah_ –aaah!” His wails were loud, but he could not contain himself if he wanted to. His whole body felt full of new kinetic energy, pooling between his legs in a foreign heaviness, a spring being tightened to burst. Above him Stan grunted with exertion, hot forehead pressed to Fiddleford’s temple. His mouth hung open, he too overcome.

Fiddleford had his eyes screwed tight now, but had he looked up he would have seen a very different Stanley Pines than the usual confidence trickster. Yet he felt the difference nonetheless, felt where they were connected not just in lock and key, but in the soft brushes of Stan’s hair on his scalp, the furnace of his breath that smelt slightly of denture cleaners. These smaller sensations of adoration culminated in extra fuel for his own lustful fervor, eventually sending him careening over the edge.

With Fiddleford clenching tight around his cock, Stan followed soon after, thrusting to the hilt one last time, and coming with small jerks of his hips and a loud groan.

Fiddleford opened his eyes. Stan stared down at him, looking dazed, glasses slightly off kilter.

“St-stan, y’all right up there?”

Stan pulled himself out slowly, before throwing himself down on the bed with an undignified whump.

“Oof, everything hurts.”

Light elation was replaced with fright and concern. “Are ya okay? Do ya need me to get one of yer medicine-y things? I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean ta hurt ya.”

“Don’t start with that. I’ll be fine. Don’t regret a minute of it.”

Fiddleford beamed, smile stretching from ear to ear. It looked silly, Stan thought. That was the kind of smile you saw on a small child, not a man who’d been through the life Fiddleford had.

“Wow, you’re an easy please, McGucket.”

“Oh, go right on pleasin’ Stanley! Yer so good at it!”

Stan tried to hide his embarrassment with a frown, but the veneer of curmudgeon was ruined by his reaching to pull Fiddleford down into his arms.

“You talk too much,” he said, but there was no malice to it. Fiddleford happily shut his mouth in favor of nuzzling against Stan’s chest. They would have to clean up soon, Stan’s clothes were all rumpled and he was certain he was still dripping, but for now he would enjoy being held. It had been so long since he had felt loved. He had forgotten what it felt like. He felt warm. He felt safe. He felt strong.

Fiddleford reckoned he could get used to this.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written a trans character or penis in vagina sex before, but how could I resist these sweet old men.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Rates and reviews are always super appreciated!
> 
> also if you like this you can follow me at www.fiddlestan.tumblr.com
> 
> You're the best, thanks again!


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